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For a moment Jason was lost in his own thoughts.
Sam used the edge of his hands to irritably wipe the wet from his eyes. He said brusquely, “Jason, whatever you think—whether you think it’s enough—I love you.”
Jason believed him. He knew that Sam loved him. Love wasn’t always enough, but it was surely three quarters of the equation.
“I love you too. Maybe I’m just out of my depth.” For sure, he couldn’t ever remember needing reassurance from a boyfriend before.
“I am who I am. I can’t promise that I’m going to change for you.”
Jason’s smile was crooked. “I’m not asking for a personality transplant.”
No answering smile from Sam. He was as grim as someone swearing to uphold the laws of the land. “But I will try. It’s worth it—you’re worth it—to try.”
Jason said, “Just don’t shut me out. At least, don’t shut me out of the things that concern me. That’s all I’m asking. And if you can’t trust me to make the right decisions, at least accept that it’s my right to make the wrong ones.”
Sam nodded bleakly. Not happy, but willing to acknowledge it was a fair request.
Jason bumped his face against Sam’s, seeking his mouth, and Sam kissed him back. His lips were so soft. There was something heartbreakingly sweet about that kiss, as though Sam was apologizing—not simply for past hurts, past misunderstandings, but for the future ones. The inevitable wounds ahead.
Jason kissed his way to the curve of Sam’s neck, resting his face against Sam, absorbing the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his hair, the scent of his aftershave, the quiet, steady fall of his inhalations-exhalations.
Sam hugged him, not speaking, and there was something comforting in just this, holding each other, listening closely to what the other was not saying, maybe couldn’t say.
Jason whispered, “Do you think everything happens for a reason?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Sam nudged his face, found his mouth, kissed him. He said gently, “That doesn’t mean good things can’t come out of bad things.”
* * * * *
Sam did not need a lot of sleep.
Four or five hours a night was his average. His morning routine was to run, shower, and read the newspaper while having his first cup of coffee. So for Jason to wake the next morning and find Sam still lying beside him, still sleeping soundly, felt special, like a rare treat.
Just to have the freedom to study Sam’s face to his heart’s content…
It worried him too, though. Even after a night’s sleep, the lines of weariness and tension were not entirely erased from Sam’s face. There seemed to be more threads of silver in his thick, fair hair.
It hadn’t occurred to Jason that Sam might be feeling responsible, even guilty for the attack on him. He had assumed Sam was just being his usual obsessive, control-freak self. Now Sam’s behavior made more sense. Not that his instinct to protect Jason by keeping him in the dark was correct or a good one, but it was more understandable in this context.
It had been a close call last night. Jason still felt a little shaken by how close they had come to snapping apart, but every time they weathered one of these conflicts, he felt like they were that much stronger, understood each other that much better. Given how little time they actually spent together, there were bound to be some serious disconnects.
And no end in sight on that. They lived on opposite sides of the country and, despite working for the same agency, their jobs rarely brought them into contact. They never spoke about a possible future. Their relationship existed strictly in the here and now.
Sometimes that was enough. Most of the time it was not nearly enough. Not from Jason’s perspective. He did not know how Sam felt. It was not something he was about to push. Not now. One close call per visit.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep. It was still early. He could hear the restless, unceasing Wyoming wind whispering outside the window, the cluck-cluck-clucking of the chickens in the yard, the plaintive braying of the blind donkey in his corral.
He started thinking again about Jeremy Kyser. If Kyser really had been at his conference in Toronto—and it sure sounded that way—he couldn’t have come after Jason, and they really were back to square one. One of the takeaways of looking over Sam’s notes had been the worrying realization that Sam truly had no idea who had attacked Jason.
That was what was making Sam crazy. It wasn’t doing a lot for Jason’s mental health either. The attack in the China King parking lot had happened one week to the day, and they were no closer to an answer as to the key questions of who had come after Jason and why.
“That’s a mighty ferocious-looking frown,” Sam murmured.
Jason opened his eyes, turned his head to find Sam studying him with a faint, rueful smile. Sam’s eyes looked so blue, so bright, and, oddly, now that he was awake, he looked more relaxed, at ease.
